Well, it’s thanks to my friend, Neillie, that I'm standing here today;
He captured me down at his shop as I reached out to pay.
He said, “I have a job for you, and you've twelve weeks to prepare.”
I thought, my God - he wants his toenails clipped or help to dye his hair.
Now, a toast that's for the ladies; Lord, wherever will I start?
He said, “That's nothing rude or nothing crude, but something from the heart.”
So, I scratched my head and searched my soul; I was’nae getting far.
It seems that Neillie's harsh restrictions took out half my repertoire.
Anyway - Oh the Bard, he loved the ladies, and oh how they loved him back;
Seems a poem's all it took those days to get them in the sack.
No wonder he liked writing of the love that hid within,
Which explains his suave and healthy look, and how he kept so trim.
If only it were like that now; I’d write for all I'm worth,
Grabbing every chance I could each day to nail another verse.
And my wife, she would be pleased for me at all my new attention,
And I'd be thin from running scared from too much pain to mention.
Now, once my business took me roaming to each corner of Great Britain,
So, I catalogued the ladies; just the ones that I was smitten.
Well, Welsh girls they took hours to please, and the Irish take some beating,
And the English girls are very, very nice if your ears can take their bleating.
Ah, but Scottish girls are best by far; as steady as a rock,
But, if by chance your eye should stray, you'll wake withoot your cock.
So I married one, with no regrets; best move that I've made yet,
And I love her dear, with all my heart, in a life with no regret.
For like the Bard, I settled down when love could get no hotter,
But compared to him and his wondrous works, sure I'm just a ditty jotter.
Oh Sweet Ladies, you are dear to us - where would we be without you?
In wrinkled clothes and motley beards in a house of straw and cow poo.
Without you we would just exist - watching football in a bar;
Just sitting, drinking, laughing, eating, drinking…..and sleeping in the car.
Dear, Sweet Ladies, we don’t kid ourselves; we know you have us beat,
Hence why we hold the doors for you, and chairs each time you seat.
We love to do the chivalrous stuff - it makes us look the strongest,
You see, we have to make the most of things - you live the feckin longest.
Well, at last it’s time for me to stop - and give you chance to mingle,
And I'll make peace with my dear wife, before I'm Facebook status: single.
Now, gentlemen, I ask you all - please charge and raise your glasses,
And join me in a bumper toast: “To the beauty of the Lassies.”

Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart

I love your soft kisses.I love firm but gentle touch. I love the way you bite your lip.I love you soooooo much.
I love the way you look at me.I love the way you smile. I love the way you're shy sometimes,Every once and a while.
I love it when you look at me, When I'm not looking at you. You think I do not realize it, But really...I do.
I love the way you cuddle. I love the way you sleep. I love how you bite your lip when something turns you on. I love the way you rub your neck,when you are thinking so deep.
I love all of you,Your nose, your lips, your hair, even your smelly feet. I love how you drink Dr Pepper. Morning noon and night. I love how if someone puts me down your always there first one there ready to fight. I will never stop loving you. You are so amazingly sweet.
I love that I love you.I have loved you from the very start. I LOVE ALL OF YOU,You alone hold the key to my heart.

Hubby was talking about the job he was at: when he suddenly…
Got into the ‘Computer Programmers Mode’. Where absolutely…
Everything became ‘DITS & DOTS, and DARS & FARS’…
No more caffeine for Hubby any time this week, at home!
This lingo of his, only belongs at work, where he IS an Uber Geek.
But here at home… you gotta know… he’s only talking to me!
It must be like the dreams he has, with reams and reams of code.
And tables of papers are stacked to the ceiling, or maybe to his nose.
It’s an APP-APP here, and an APP-APP there, to tie the Data to his code.
Make it go faster! Make it go smarter! In his own little world, you know.
His eyes have glazed, as his fingers flash over his fancy keyboard at home.
If only me, his little old wifey- poo, could get such attention as this, to know.
At least, he keeps my computers running, like crazy, and way up to snuff!
Now if only he’d give me the time of day… to get my own work done.
With a type-type here, and a type-type there: I definitely blow his mind.
He’d fix my typing, if only he could, with a new app, well designed.
The ‘Trouble with Tribbles’ is nothing, as when confronting an Uber Geek.
Microsoft falls into a hush, as they whisper out his name and fame complete.
For Halloween, he hooks up electronics, with apps to animated programming…
Never Fear! Hubby’s here! Next, the Turkey will be clucking binary coding.
He made Santa a GPS, which goes to mars and beyond: It’s simply otherworldly.
But now he’s talking in binary code… I hope Hubby’ll land home, soon, surely.
For with DITs & DOTS, and DARS & FARS it’s getting way past midnight.
I know he’ll be back to earth soon, tho, for it’s time to say goodnight!

A slight hint of consternation was in her voice,
“Why did you tell those people I’m deaf and dumb?”
“I never said you were deaf, my Dear.”
She laughed, but I kinda felt like a bum.
Hell. It was just a joke.
One evening, she asked, “Will you love me if I get chubby?”
I responded, “Of course I still love you.
It would take much more than pounds and cellulite
To make me fall out of love…it’s true.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
“Would you remarry if I die before you?” she asked.
I said, “No…probably not…I’ve been spoiled by you.”
“But you’ve been a great husband. I think you should.”
“Whatever happens, happens is the best I can do.”
“If you remarried, would you play golf with your new wife?
And would you let her use my clubs?” she demanded.
I calmly smiled and said, “Your clubs are safe.
You see, my Dear…she’s left handed.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
Then, she whined and whined about her butt.
I responded, “Want to knock some inches off that ass?
It may sound strange, but I heard it works….
Rinse all your panties in Slim Fast.”
Hell. It was just a joke.
The next day, I readied for work, took ‘undies’ from my drawer.
They were engulfed in a fog of white, why I didn’t know.
So, I asked, “Honey! Why did you put talcum powder on my shorts?”
She slyly smiled, “That’s not talcum powder. That’s Miracle Gro.”
Hell. It was just a joke....I guess.
So, what is my wife’s most endearing feature?
Her sense of humor.... there’s no doubt.
Always a smile where angst or anger might have been,
A smile I never want to be without.

Too much Viagra and beer.
Too much Viagra and beer.
My wife was out of town,
I hit every club around.
Each time I'd hope to find
A horny woman here.
Country Bob's was the last club that was open.
Near blind drunk and horny, but I was still hopin'.
A pretty woman gave me a glance,
Smiled and said, "Nice pants.
Honey, I'm ridin' if you're ropin'."
A few hours later, I was in a Helluva mess
She's still ridin' hard and screamin', "God, this is the best!"
I was dizzy and light-headed. I had pains in my chest,
But she wouldn't stop long enough to call EMS.
When I came to, I was home in my own bed,
Next to my lovely wife; and this is what she said:
"I picked you up at Country Bob's, my dear;
And there's gonna be some changes around here.
You were fantastic last night;
So, I only think its right
If I supplement your diet
With Viagra and beer."
Viagra and beer. Viagra and beer.
She treats me like a king,
Says I make her body sing;
So, I'm happy on my diet of Viagra and beer.
Yes, I'm happy on my diet of Viagra and beer.
Submitted by: Buzz O'Words
Written: 3/3/14

If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, stepped on or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.
If it is Mommy, must make her dirty
If it is sibling, must slap,kick,and fight.
If it has four legs, must squeeze tight until makes noise
If big person is on phone, must make lots of noise
If tv is not on cartoons, scream until they are
If food is not good, throw it, refuse to eat it and cry until big people give you something good

Love feast by Steven Hudson
I have looked upon too many scarred, sullen and hard faces these many days.
Loud, crude, gruff men who take and push and fight.
This ship has run its course, sleepless, tossed about,
Every port and harbor, sea and foreign land.
My companions smell and to look at them would make you turn down.
I’m pretty sure I have a tapeworm and my piss is the wrong color.
So my love, when here at last I see your face,
You’re smile, piercing eyes, and silky long hair,
To gaze at you now is a love feast to behold,
And from now and forever you will always be…..
The most captivating golden retriever I have ever seen.

The Archer of laughter
[Sagittarius]
He needs to know; not trivia
But all those deeper things
Needs a higher education
He wants his life to bring
All the answers big and vast
He wants to travel too
Cause he has heaps of energy
He loves to do things new.
He cannot handle boredom
He must be on the go
If not in the physical
Then he will have to know
Everything about anything
He’s a philosopher, this too
He loves to have his high ideals
And he’ll always say what’s true.
But most of all he loves to laugh
To him life be a game
He doesn’t do traditional
And he don’t like things the same
He can be over bearing
But you’ll like him anyway
Though he will really pee you off
When he has too much to say.
1 August 2013 @ 0727hrs.

One to the next is its mother
Each fiscal cliff breeds another
There's no golden goose
Oh brother, this chain noose
Causes all commerce to smother
Kick debt ceiling blues in the groin
With Ponzi whose scheme we should join
He's someone now dead
For the platinum head
Of a trillion buck magic act coin

HOW DID THAT MAN GET INTO MY BED?
Lord Gravity ,
the king of kings
through" hands on" science
Taught me things--
From plopping
apples on my head
To plopping men
Upon my bed.
Victoria Anderson-Throop 2013

Jack’s the name of our friend
With him, a joke has no end
He writes about “shit”
Gives poor folks a fit
Drives Soupers over the bend!
His wisdom’s coupled with fun
Guffaws you’ll get on the run
Nutso’s and derriers
Hogs and teddy bears
But where’s Attila the HUN!?
You’ve asked that things be kept light
What of us lost in the night?
We all need to vent
Emotions to spend
Or we're in a sorry plight!
But we need poets like you
To show us funny things too
So don’t you dare stop
This kangaroo hop
Of funny writes, oh so new!
Eileen Manassian Ghali

Mr. Wiggles the stuffed “punk pig” , he wasn’t always this way. Before the safety pins in his little nose and “Dead Kennedy’s” patch on his soft, fuzzy, pink back, he was a loving, clean, attractive piggy who was afraid of the dark. He sewed black and red string into his adorable little ear because he thought it would make him look like a rebel pig, then he got experimental with sharpie, permanently drawing stitches on his non-existing lips all because of the music he flooded into his head. Then after the piercings, he got into tattoos. He has a black and red “C” on his chest and a black dotted “C” with a little black heart on his hip. It’s pretty sexy huh? He got it for someone but that someone loved another. He has big, child like eyes that can mesmerize you. They aren’t blue or green or even brown, They are black eyes that just stare deeply into you. He is also very small, not like the other kids. He used to get beat up when he was a little piglet, Maybe that’s why he tries to be all tough now. He’s a bubble gum pink, maybe that was a factor in him getting beat up by all the other farm animals so much. He had low self esteem and a eating disorder, that's why he is so skinny for a grown man piggy. He hated the way he looked, he was ashamed for being born a pig because they have such bad reputations of being dirty, sloppy, and lazy. He didn't like his feet most of all because they were ugly and gross, pig feet are the definition of this but his are abnormal they were disfigured and very, very pink, not like the other animals with smooth hooves or webbed feets. His are piggies feet that no one will end up ever eating. They look like something Ariel would collect under the sea. Mr. Wiggles wasn’t always a bad piggy, under his thick, fuzzy skin he is soft and plushy pig. One thing that never changed is that he loves affection such as hugs, they are comforting and secure. He smells like a warm breeze and something sugary. He may act tough but there is much, much more then meets the eye.

Let the spotlight shine
And let the music out
Don't waste no time
I need to dance about
Singer in the spotlight
Giving his songs away
Makin' life feel just right
At least just for today
Float me off from here
I need to see the sunlight
Maybe I'm not clear
I need to get my head right
Help me out this time
Play my favorite song
Even out of time
You can't get it wrong
Singer in the spotlight
A million miles away
Makin' life feel just right
Can I hear him play
That's the very one
I can float away
Even when it's done
Another one should play
Don't take that bow
Don't go away
Do you have to leave now
We all want to play
Singer in the spotlight
Let us hear you play
Makin' life feel just right
Oh please won't you stay
The show goes down the road
May be back one day
Pay the bills I owed
Put some cash away
And when they come back 'round
Well you never can say
If my money's sound
Could be on my way
Singer in the spotlight
With his band at play
Makin' life feel just right
Never go away

Is my life not tortured enough for you to see?
I am broken as can be.
My heart is torn.
My tears stain these perfect floors.
Why are singing with glee?
Why do you not care about my every plea?
I am trapped in your arms.
I am the hopeless moth.
How did you pick me?
What is it that you see?
A girl untouched by life?
A flower blooming in the desert?
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.

There've been times in my life
where I've just had to say,
"I must, give it all up,
for, it's that kind of day"!
I must, really say this
I really, just must;
if I didn't say it,
then, it wouldn't be, "just".
There's this crazy, old man
we'll just call him, "Doc";
who fills up blank pages
with, "poetical talk".
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
'til way, past bed-time,
trying to finish each poem
and, complete every rhyme.
If he hadn't done this
he'd surely gone, "mad",
his nonsensical nature
was, all that he had!
No hidden agenda
when first, he wrote down,
each poem of nonsense
to erase a childs' frown.
And, Doc always did this
manipulate, "clues"...
..so that , all of his poems
were merely geared, to amuse.
He loved to let nonsense
be the order of the day,
and, with every poem
we all smiled, the same way.
His only intention
was to set our minds, "free",
his style, just did it
so, poetically.
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!
The volumes of topics
that Doc's written of,
included all that could be
written.....below, and above.
He's written of magic,
puzzles, and games...
..with, strange little creatures,
with, strange little, "names".
The, crazier his story,
the saner he'd feel,
and, the more that we heard
convinced us they were, "real"!
His poems, were genius
as he weaved us, a tale;
with, nonsensical rhymes
that did so, without..."fail".
"Old Doc", has quit writing
he's up in heaven,
this year, his birthday'd ...
make him, a hundred, and seven!
He's given advice,
taught what we must do,
he said, "Be who you are...
..no-one's youer, than....you!"
He's maybe still writing
in, heaven....you see,
that'd be just like him
as, that's who he must, be!
That, silly old doctor...
..as silly, as a goose;
we all loved his poems,
for, we loved Dr. Seuss!

"My Big Brother" up and down the street
He could be anyone you meet
Spying on you from the street
Looking in from every beat
"My Big Brother" isn't that sweet
"My Big Brother" and I don't know why
Casting in from above the sky
"My Big Brother" the commie spy
Listening in do or die
Bringing his book in
Taught within
My Big Brother, 1-800-LET-US IN
Caught with paper and a pen
All because, "My Big Brother" let himself in

Investors don’t have to be paid
if a flop of a Broadway musical is made.
That was the thought of producer Max Bialystok.
His philosophy was obviously a big crock.
Max resorted to fund raising activities that were shady.
He conned and cheated many an old lady.
He and accountant Leo Bloom made a team.
To make money producing a failure was their dream.
“Springtime for Hitler” was a play they would choose.
They were so certain this production would lose.
To their shocking surprise, the musical was a success.
Can you imagine the amount of resulting distress?
Does this sound like a movie you would like to see?
Go out today and rent the DVD.
Based on the 1968 film “The Producers”

(TRIPLE HAIKU in fact...)
Awww...cats are so cute!
Rubbing against my 2 legs
Adoriddible!
I head to my room
They watch me like a shepherd
My sheep follow me!
My little buddy
Follows me into bathroom
Hope she turns her head

the next is like the first
equally shedding more skin
you do that again and again
and I known each time
you look at me
we are transformed
and so we take each step
each page is torn away
a day, a week, a month
eternity in our eyes
this time with you
like a wave that never breaks
a swell in the heart of the ocean
where the two race, play, swim
we are
the ones we see
in the next moment the sun rolls by
you lighten up the room
again a mirror
to the little pools of mystery
spilling out around you
giving up the secret
moulting in the broad day light

My words are like legos,
scattered all over the floor.
All colorful shapes and sizes
different combinations to explore.
I’m like a poor lego man,
With his head on backwards.
I remove my head and search it,
In desperation when I lack words.
Because my words are like legos
and sometimes they’re hard to find.
Missing pieces in the dark,
the little crevices of my mind.
My words are like messy legos,
like a castle that’s been broken.
Being rebuilt piece by piece,
With every word that’s spoken.
So I’ll gather all my legos,
and I’ll build a castle too!
I’ll use all my beautiful legos,
I would build it just for you.
But you came and stole my lego's,
You swooped them off the ground.
I tried to tell you my secret,
But I couldn’t make a sound.
Why did you take my legos?
That wasn’t part of the deal.
Please just give them back,
So I can tell you how I feel.

I wish outhouses were still in fashion
For I would be sat in one right now
Away from the hypocrisy that is you
But still close enough
So when I hollered your name
You’d still answer
By God I don’t know how your mother managed
She must have the patience of a sculpture
For 21 years, to raise the man-child that is you
Cement in her head I tell you!
For if you were my child
I would have asked for another one
But boy does she have some good genes
I can’t for the life of me possibly fathom the thought
That any other girl than me could subject herself
To the hysteria that is you
I don’t know how I do it to be honest
I must have sinned in a previous life
But the biggest mystery of it all, my dear boy
Is if I woke up one late Sunday morning
Not finding you wrapped around the entire duvet
With my teeth chattering
Well, that would be the greatest catastrophe of all